


best day of my life

by end_thistragedy



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, M/M, Meet-Cute, just plain fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 20:09:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7815400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/end_thistragedy/pseuds/end_thistragedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It's entirely too cliche that they meet at a bar on Harry's 23rd birthday.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	best day of my life

**Author's Note:**

> Another one of the random drabbles and bits that have been sitting around since 2012/2013 very slightly updated to fit 2016

It's entirely too cliche that they meet at a bar on Harry's 23rd birthday.

He's wearing a sparkling gold tiara and he's tipsy, but not really all that drunk from the endless supply of saturated fruity cocktails with requested mini umbrellas in them that keep appearing in front of him mere seconds after he's finished the one before.

He's got a half eaten grilled chicken and bacon sandwich in front of him and mozzarella stick crumbs all over his lap and there's a smudge of sauce on his flamingo-patterned shirt that he tried and failed to remove, but he's enjoying himself rather immensely.

He'd consider it one of his favorite birthday celebrations to date except it's not nearly as rewarding as the Caribbean cruise he took with his family when he was eight. Nothing could quite beat singing karaoke of Disney songs with his sister and throwing up on stage from mixing too many tropical slushies with too many fish fingers slathered in honey mustard and the two entire bags of gummy candy he'd managed to eat between the time it took them to get to dinner.

He vividly remembers his sister's appalled screech and the feedback of the microphone as it dropped to the floor of the makeshift stage, decorated with a tacky sea shell and sea horse pattern in coral. He'd laughed himself off the stage to the applause and praise of his peers--a handful of children scattered around the room between the ages of five and ten--while his mother attempted to stifle her giggles as she apologized to the room of disgusted and unimpressed parents.

But here at his 23rd, things are starting to get particularly interesting as his small group of friends manage to convince him to introduce himself to the attractive boy sat at the bar on what was a convenient dare sparked by him being distracted most of the night after catching a glimpse of him when the eruption of cheers from the crowd at the bar surrounding the one TV the place had spiked his attention.

Harry had admittedly done an actual double take and the scratch of a record resonated throughout his head and he couldn't shake Liam from his radar even if he tried (or wanted to, if he's honest).

And--okay. Harry's not shy. Never has been. He was charming and charismatic and cute. He once charmed his way into an honors program in the ninth grade that he certainly did not in any way qualify for, just as he charmed his way into paid non-paying internships all throughput college, and into bed with his sociology TA more than a few times.

But there was something about Liam that made Harry hesitant and self-conscious of his entire existence and eventually stunned him into immobility.

Catching on to the reason for his distraction and really, he's not exactly known for subtlety, his friends' cajoling ensues, manifesting in the form of pretty Tom tossing his hair and clapping him on the back and James and Niall both shoving one shoulder each until he's finally pushed fully out of their booth and stumbling to his feet.

It's the waitress carrying two freshly crafted drinks away from the bar that has Harry tripping over his most traitorous feet in order to dodge her unexpected spin that she'd undoubtedly perfected during her time at work.

His trip ironically feels more like a literal nudge in the right direction, some kind of sick twist of fate, and he finds stumbling into Liam with his only option to instinctively reach out to anchor himself, his hands landing part on Liam's thighs, part on his knobby little knee.

It's a cute knee, Harry immediately thinks, as Liam squeaks equally cutely, a surprised little "Oh," escaping his lips as he abandons his beer and moves quickly to steady Harry by the arms.

Harry kind of wants to gently fade from existence, but Liam, a mixture bright eyes and concern just begins to chuckle as he says, "Easy there. Are you all right?"

And of course, Harry's rather dramatic and he could take this moment for what it is and play it all off as being a drunken misstep and just apologize and walk away and straight out of the bar without his coat and his phone and any of those generous presents that clearly validate ten years of his friendships.

But no. No, Harry is confident, he's charismatic, and he's damn cute, so he says, "Well physically," he drawls, "I'm okay. But emotionally--"

Liam's face is crafted with concern and he doesn't look very convinced and he rubs his warm hands up and down Harry's arms, comforting, reassuring and Harry relaxes instantly, melts rather pathetically in his grip. His mind starts to wander as he thinks about the list of things he could do to make Liam touch him just like that again.

He lingers with his hands on Liam's toned thighs for awhile, gathering the balance he doesn't actually need, before standing straight and smiling to distract from the fact that he's blushing most intensively. "Um," He pulls at his bottom lip, "Hi."

Liam arches an eyebrow, realizing now that Harry's appearance probably wasn't entirely an accident. Harry's fairly easy to read, he knows. "Hello." says Liam, and when Harry doesn't follow up and just keeps standing there, it's obvious that Liam tries very hard not to laugh. His amusement lights up his entire face which is rather impressive and really doesn't help Harry's unmovable state. Neither does Liam's sincere, "Do you want to sit? Maybe?"

And Harry does. He really does, and for an excruciating moment his legs are frozen and he curses them for once again proving to being traitorous bastards, until they eventually relent with an exaggerated lift and he can finally take the stool beside Liam.

When Liam waves the bartender over and promptly asks for a beer, Harry stutters out, "Oh--you don't have to--"

But Liam waves him off, "Consider it a birthday present."

Harry frowns, feels like there are calculating numbers and equations floating above his head, "How did you--" and then remembers, right, he's wearing a sparkling tiara for gods sake. Subtlety, right. And they haven't exactly been quiet in their celebration all night. With Niall leading a drunken and sugar-high rendition of Happy Birthday where Harry managed to hear the "dear Harry" multiple times and out of sync in different parts of the song. He'd giggled through what might of been embarrassment if not for that last shot of fireball.

"Right," he says, "Thank you."

"It's no problem. I'm Liam."

"M' Harry." He says, and okay, yeah, yes. This is familiar territory. He can handle introductions with cute boys and can proceed into full conversation. It's quite possibly what he was born to do. If he were a Sim he'd definitely have the schmoozer trait. Definitely the charismatic.

"Well, I hope you're having a fantastic birthday. Must be a big one."

Is there a handsome trait? Harry's sure Liam would have it. Irresistible. Charming. Cute. Eyebrows. God. If that isn't Harry's type.

"I am now." He'd thought about it, he debated it, and he said it. He's confident. He's cool. And he might possibly be in love. It's too early to know for sure.

Liam's smile is warm like his hands and the heat flooding Harry's ears. It's closed lipped and happy. "I'm glad to help." Liam says, so genuine, and then, bringing his beer up to his lips, he jerks his head slightly in the direction behind Harry, "Your friends must know they're not being discrete, right?"

Harry doesn't bother even looking over his shoulder. He can picture it: each deliberately watching the two of them, hoping Harry will make some kind of move, Niall and Ben starting a betting pool in the center of the table, uncaring of the way each bill drags across any puddle of spilled liquid on the polished wood. He sighs, long suffering, the one he's used countless times to convince Niall into going ice skating with him, even the time where he shouldn't have been off his crutches, or Grimmy to let him have the last bite of the meal from the Greek place that used to be around the corner but moved a good forty five minutes away and he'd spent hours before going on and on about how much he was craving it.

Harry knows it's endearing and obnoxious but mostly just charming. He just hopes Liam is as susceptible to his charms as his friends are. He shrugs a bit and stares innocently back at Liam, one of the moves he's been told is cute and turns a lot of faces pink, "They're just waiting for me to make what could be a terrible proposition with physically and maybe even emotionally harming consequences."

Liam looks so amused by now, watching Harry carefully as if to see if he's real or not and Harry's afraid he's made a terrible lapse in judgement. It wouldn't exactly be his first, he recognizes, but then Liam says, "Yeah? Who might you be propositioning?" with a maddening smirk and Harry will be absolutely damned if he wasn't kissing him this smiling plump lipped idiot against a bathroom stall within the next ten minutes.

He just shrugs, though, and keeps whatever cool he has left in case he accidentally inevitably scares Liam away by being overly forward. He'd like to think he was more of a moderately forward kind of guy. Well, okay, hopefully forward enough that this conversation ends up with someone's hands in someone's pants.

He hums, ruminating over the straw of his very pink drink. "Well I don't know, see. I'm thinking of asking this incredibly fit guy sitting at the bar for his number. But I don't know whether he's interested." Harry says, smiling just slightly at Liam, who's taken to rubbing a hand over his neck. Nervously, Harry hopes. Flattered, interested, so confusingly turned on just from Harrys existence that he wouldn't be adverse to getting each other off in the toilets within minutes of being acquainted. He's gone a bit red and Harry wants to kiss that all away, get him to a nice flush of pink instead.

He straightens with an idea, hopes it goes unnoticed. "Do you, by chance, have any suggestions?"

"I think you should go for it." Liam says, confidently. "What've you got to lose? It's your birthday. I think you deserve it."

Harry nods, watching Liam consideringly. "So what you're saying is--you think he's interested?"

Liam takes a long drawl from his beer and Harry curses every God above because it leaves his lips shiny and he openly stares at his mouth, pictures himself kissing those ridiculous lips, kissing Liam's smile away. And when he pictures Liam's mouth on various parts of his body, mouthing at his skin and making Harry squirm underneath his touch, Harry blinks.

Liam must be a mind reader because he bites a corner of his lip, albeit tamely, and says, "I think he's very interested."

Harry's never been this turned on from virtually nothing in his life. The lights have suddenly become too hot and too bright and his pulse is racing dangerously. Is it possible to be so attracted to someone that it literally stops his heart? Death on sight. "Excellent." He accidentally croaks, but clears his throat. He's confident. Cool. Collected.

Liam glances down at his hands wrapped around his beer, his finger sliding up and down the side, caressing it and Harry inwardly groans.

He figures that Liam should be tortured just as he's been torturing Harry all night and really, Harry just wants to have a little fun, so he smiles sweetly at an expecting Liam, and nods over Liam's shoulder at the older man with the loosened tie around his neck sitting beside him, a disgusting crime against God Bud Light in his hands. "That's the guy. What d'you think? Fit or no? I've grown to quite like your opinions."

Liam pauses, his cute little forehead wrinkling slightly as his eyebrows form a perturbed frown. "Oh. I--" The blush is back full throttle and that's literally all Harry can stand, had never been one for landing jokes or successful pranks, so he laughs loudly to lighten the mood. "I'm kidding!" He says, "I was--I am talking about you!"

"Good," Liam chuckles and it sounds pained. "Think I would have been a bit too disappointed." He admits.

"Well we can't have that, can we?" Harry says, and goes in for the kill, "Do you want to maybe see me again? Preferably with less people?"

Liam doesn't even blink, "Very much so, yes. Absolutely. Um." He's all pink again, "Yes."

Harry pumps his fist in victory and Liam laughs at him like he's actually funny and not just some idiot that just gets lucky sometimes and slides his phone toward him. Harry picks it up eagerly, "I'm just going to call myself so I can get your number." He says, saving himself in as Harry - the cute one from the bar and hands Liam his phone back. "I should really get back, though. See how much bet money I'm gonna have to steal."

"Yeah. Yeah! Was actually supposed to have picked up my friend a bit ago." He looks guilty, but Harry leans forward and kisses him on the cheek.

When Liam beams, Harry feels that telling pain in his chest. That one that's just an embodiment of oh shit! "Um. Right. I'll text you. Like definitely. Definitely maybe soon. Might have to block my number after awhile."

"I think I can handle it." Liam says, and Harry wants to strangle him until he stops being so cute. He forgets how well he doesn't do with cute.

"Oh...god," he says, "I'm just going to go over there now. Bye." He waves awkwardly and returns to his friends who rub his head or shout at him for making them lose money.

He catches Liam just as he walks by the table on his way out, smiling.


End file.
